Chapter Four: The Lively Village of Blazing Flames 1

In the blink of an eye, a day had passed, and the first group of outsiders had already arrived at the outskirts of Flamefire Village. They came as a trio, forming a small team whose very existence revolved around adventure—a word that belonged solely to them. As the saying goes, fortune favors the bold, but at every critical moment, their courage would falter, scattering them in different directions. Eventually, they would reconvene at a predetermined rendezvous point.

Their daring was always conditional upon absolute safety; if their lives were ever threatened, they would sooner abandon the treasures they had so painstakingly acquired than risk their own survival. Now, the three approached Flamefire Village with utmost caution, concealing themselves within the dense forest.

First, they observed the terrain, familiarizing themselves with the surroundings to devise the most reasonable escape routes. Second, they kept a constant watch over the village, seeking to learn as much as possible about its inhabitants’ habits and defenses—a necessary foundation for their scheme to steal precious items.

Truth be told, luck was on their side. Had the vitality of this place not been restored by a drop of divine blood, all they would have found was a barren sea of fire stretching for miles, devoid of any treasures to seek.

Yet, they knew nothing of this. All they understood was that they were here to act with stealth.

Suddenly, the trio was stunned by a scene not far from their hiding place. Before their eyes, a young boy and an odd-looking girl were sparring with their fists. The boy’s punch sent a gust of fiery wind toward the trio, nearly igniting the foliage that concealed them. Were it not for their spiritual energy shielding their bodies, they might have been exposed already.

But this could not last. Sooner or later, their presence would be discovered; they needed a plan to distract these two children, lest their schemes be ruined.

The next moment, whether by fate or coincidence, an unexpected event occurred, turning the trio into mere bystanders.

Brolo called out, “Chief, come forth and meet me.”

A man of immortal bearing and wild, wolf-like gaze appeared, standing in midair and summoning the Flamefire Village below. This figure was unfamiliar to the trio, but the village chief and a few elders had met him once, just the day before. It was uncertain whether Brolo himself had seen the chief and his kin, for though they had not concealed themselves perfectly, such arrogant men rarely paid heed to those they deemed insignificant.

Especially considering that yesterday, the chief was only a practitioner of the Foundation Realm, but now he had ascended to the Longevity Realm. It was little wonder Brolo could not sense him. In Brolo's mind, all others were inferior, only he was truly powerful—an assurance granted by the dragon bone within him.

The chief hurried out to greet this formidable guest, fearing not for his own safety but for the lives of the entire village. He could face death bravely, but what would become of his people? All he could do now was take things one step at a time. Regardless of Brolo’s purpose, as long as he did not oppose him, he hoped the village would be spared.

“Honored master, I am the chief. What instructions do you have?” he asked, bowing deeply, eyes fixed on the ground, terrified of offending this unknown but powerful figure.

The term “honored master” was used by lower-level cultivators to address those many realms above them—a rare occurrence, usually reserved for subordinates or desperate situations. No one would foolishly confront a higher-level cultivator; reverence and distance were the norm unless forced to obey.

Brolo was pleased with the chief’s demeanor and wasted no time on pleasantries, cutting straight to the matter at hand. He was well-prepared this time, hoping those with ulterior motives would come, so he could make them regret it.

“Yesterday, aside from the Flamefire Avenue, did any other treasures appear?”

The chief pondered, confused. Only the Flamefire Avenue had emerged yesterday—what other treasures could there be? Could he mean the drop of divine blood from the Fire God? But that had long since been consumed by the villagers, rendered void, nothing left to offer in tribute.

This was a dilemma; if he claimed the villagers knew nothing, they were at the center of the event. If he admitted their knowledge, they would surely be eradicated by Brolo. Either way, it was a dead end.

After careful consideration, the chief decided to feign ignorance, claiming that the villagers were too weak to investigate, only aware of treasures soaring to the heavens but knowing nothing of their nature. Had Brolo not informed him, he would not have known about the Flamefire Avenue at all.

He finished his explanation and knelt, begging for mercy, insisting their ignorance was genuine.

No matter how things played out, clinging to ignorance offered the best chance of survival—unless Brolo was a bloodthirsty killer; then all bets were off.

Brolo, seeing their cultivation, believed him, though he remained unconvinced. He asked another question.

“Rise, I never said I would kill you. But...”

The chief, hoping for peace, knelt again in panic, his anxiety mirrored in his people’s hearts. What was Brolo planning?

Brolo’s next question was simple: Had anything strange happened recently, such as new arrivals?

The trio hiding nearby felt their hearts tighten, but maintained their composure and kept their presence concealed, listening as the chief recounted his observations.

Finally, the chief remembered the volcanic region behind the mountain, which had appeared out of nowhere. He could reveal this, preserving the secret of the divine blood and ensuring the village’s safety. Thanks to Brolo’s reminder, he thought of the Flamefire Avenue in the rear mountains.

He promptly told Brolo the origins of the volcano, claiming it descended from the heavens just yesterday, after the Flamefire Avenue incident. To reinforce his story, he speculated that the rear mountain might also be a Flamefire Avenue, and perhaps twin treasures had appeared.

He was about to say more to convince Brolo of his sincerity, but Brolo departed, heading for the rear mountain.

After Brolo left, the trio slipped away together. They were nowhere near the Cave Heaven Realm—going there would be suicide. Survival was their priority.

Not long after, Brolo returned, seeking out the chief for a private conversation. He issued an order: the chief was to tell anyone who inquired about treasures that the Flamefire Avenue was in the rear mountain.

Brolo intended to set a formation there; anyone who approached would be trapped, and he would catch them all in one sweep. Of course, he kept these details to himself. There was no need to confide in those he deemed insignificant.

About an hour later, another group arrived, though these were lone individuals, not teams.

One was a burly man running through the wilds, another a refined youth walking on air, and the last a beautiful maiden flying on her sword.

None of them were weak; compared to Brolo, they were not far off. But they had no idea what awaited them in the rear mountain.

As expected, all three questioned the chief about the treasures. The chief followed Brolo’s instructions—whether they lived or died was up to them. He would not risk his village for outsiders.

But these three had no interest in the Flamefire Avenue; upon learning its identity, the youth and maiden departed, while the burly man chose to stay, resting in Flamefire Village rather than venturing to the rear mountain.

He was fierce-looking, shirtless, wearing long, wide trousers and woven straw sandals, carrying a wine gourd in hand. Drinking as he spoke, he said,

“Chief, you needn’t trouble yourself. I’m just here to see the excitement. Look, I brought my own wine, and you’ve provided the chair. I’ll sit here in your village for a while, then I’ll be on my way.”

He took a hearty swig, seemingly at ease, though the chief and villagers watched him with trepidation, uncertain if his words were honest.

He soon struck up another conversation with the chief, speaking of the vast world beyond, wondering why the villagers never ventured out, trapped in this secluded settlement. Despite scarce resources, it was remarkable that a few elders had recently reached the Longevity Realm.

Going any higher seemed impossible for them, but the children were different—especially Fire Qilin, whom the burly man had noticed. He remarked that remaining here would be irresponsible for Fire Qilin and a tragedy for Flamefire Village.

He finished speaking, yet did not leave. At that moment, the chief knelt again—what could this mean?